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Nat Lipstadt Feb 2014
The Sounding Foam of Primal Things

*(The title and the poem, taken from and inspired by
Carl Sandburg's "Who Am I?")


wind and rain pound the surf.
snow falls on the beach, on the shore.
man-observer cannot tell:
has the earth gone mad, all wet?
do the seas rise, whipped up, filling the heavens,
or does the white rain replenishes the very body,
from whence it came, and now returns?

this matters greatly, yet nothing answers this, his question.

the furious soundings, the green foam churn,
the silence of no response inebriates,
drunk on the tempest's hard wet liquor,
weighed down, sodden with the despair,
solitude, silence, absent answers,
his natural walking companions!

No Stopping signs on almost every corner,
Do Not Pass, Do Not Enter,
One Way, Two Way, No Thru Passage,
but the one sign he seeks,
"Stay On The Path" absent.

Eluded,
dispassionate endings,
the essential quietude among
furious surround-sounds of creative destruction
he ceases to ask, for unanswered, undirected.

Concluded,
either
their is no one listening, or,
there is no one caring, or,

Deluded,
illusion is truth,
he is an illusion.

------------------
Who Am I?
By Carl Sandburg

My head knocks against the stars.
My feet are on the hilltops.
My finger-tips are in the valleys and shores of
     universal life.
Down in the sounding foam of primal things I
     reach my hands and play with pebbles of
     destiny.
I have been to hell and back many times.
I know all about heaven, for I have talked with God.
I dabble in the blood and guts of the terrible.
I know the passionate seizure of beauty
And the marvelous rebellion of man at all signs
     reading "Keep Off."

My name is Truth and I am the most elusive captive
     in the universe.
Nobody Jul 2017
Don't stumble, forget to hide.
Don’t bring them down,
don’t make them cry.
Once they hear,
they’ll need reasons why.

I know you didn’t ask for this,
stop sounding so sad.
We said we love you,
you're not happy about that?

You just sit alone in here,
dwelling on silly fears;
no we won’t sit with you,
but it doesn’t mean we don’t care.

Sorry this burden is yours,
you can try and bleed it away;
but there is no escape,
this is how you were made.
With heavy ****** the bell announced -
Come one! Come all to tea!
With lighted feet the children pounced -
and came to tea with me!
King Panda Jan 2018
—helium
along the tracks
squished and turned copper
sounding space scratch—
a record when listened
through some great machine where
James Taylor always hits the
high notes and matter explodes
forming the heaviest gold—us always
singing pennies.
us, remnants
kissing the core
of aging stars.
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
Be a voice; not an echo*

somebody had written on the wall.

People are in love with echoes,

reverberating off walls of canyons,

in love with the sound

sounding off.

Nothing for me, they decide.

Nothing for the girl, lifting her hand

to caress the branches of trees

hanging overhead.

They want the familiar sounds

of girls

sounding off.
patty m Jul 2018
In the pale beyond the moon
fossilized predators bay,
while stone footprints lead us nowhere.
We slide across meridians,
masked as silent shadows,
some run with wolves
and sometimes vanish
others are mummified
soon after they're born.
Lost souls, stray cats, fleas on the
backs of ubiquitous rats,
we flail ourselves with twisted hangers
sounding discordant notes.

Tattooed our blood rituals finalized
we peel ourselves from the edge
living knife sharp against the violence always flaring.
Beat up junk, reeking of smoke
the cruelty of it all and yet we reveal nothing,

Lionesque leaders stalk
jabbing their claws, partaking in torture,
now we are random prey;
no tower of control or greetings are chorused,
as we move alone or in pairs conversing only in signs and signals.
We align our sites on the bullet's trajectory,
superimposing ourselves on our enemy's vision,
Like demons spreading disease and infection
we fight until we die, or defiantly dance
in the bloodlust of future freedom.

Idols turned clay, the universe erupting
what do we make of it all?

Nullified regions under siege
and still they fight,
don't they know that we're all dying?
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2012
I’ve been moving to the same song for so long,
I’ve forgotten how to make my own melody.
Singing only cover songs that I’ve heard along the way,
trying to find my own voice again.

I found myself moving to a different sound;
one of joy, of newness and sweetness of life.
Music that has been fighting to be released, exploding now into song.
For a time I was singing in perfect harmony with the voice of angels.

Your music was your own, doomed to repetition,
stuck behind an immobile wall of fear.
Caught up in youth and crisis.
You left heaven behind, free falling into another.

Looking for harmony in others, our duet became my solo,
making our song incomplete,
sounding more like a dirge than dance.
Once, one of beauty, I now weep at the sound.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
Lizzy Oct 2016
How would one go about
Saying that they
Hate themselves
Without sounding too pathetic
Or melodramatic?
Asking for a friend.
Evan Backward Apr 2013
I want to write a poem.
No, like I really really really wanna write a poem.
Problem, stick it to me.
Pause
Poems have to be good.
Okay, so a poem doesn't have to be good
However, the point of the art is to have someone read
Those flippy little words that you pulled out
Of some intangible existence and pasted on
The Internet.

The Internet,
So you don't always put it online but,
Other people are "supposed" to read it.
To enjoy it, give you a pat on the back,
Maybe an "I see what you did there".
So poems are supposed to be presentable.
You've got to pay in sweat and ink but,
At least the words themselves are free.

What if I don't wanna have to make a "good" poem?
Okay so I really do want a pat on the back but
Sometimes I really like pasting things from
Intangible existences.
Fancy words right? Let me pat my own back.
Sometimes I just like putting my emotions on paper
While sounding like I read
More dictionaries than Webster.
Ha, ha, sigh.

There's a problem with having to be inspired to write **** down.
Do you think someone pays Taylor Swift's boyfriends
To break up with her
So she can write the
Next big hit?
I wouldn't doubt it.
My guardian angel should make the people around me
Say weird stuff such that I can write about
Walking on waves of shattered glass
Or
Singing of birds in circled flight.
Maybe I'd be better off being hit by a car.
That'd be some pretty touching poetry.

Some people write happy poetry too,
I don't know how they do it.
Sorry but, my world isn't flowers and  butterflies
Enough to warrant discussion of
Staying in the fairy meadow of light.
Sorry, I'm just jealous.

Maybe I just like writing stuff down?
What if I just don't want to be forgotten?
Leaving a legacy in my words more indellible
Than a pat on the back.
Doubt it.

I just don't want to forget.
Brain, why don't you get it?
I'm sitting here getting all intimate with an idea and
The next morning Brain's got no clue what their name is.
Like really, even if we invite a friend over and get creative with
Our tongues and mouths,
Brain doesn't remember the moments shared between us.
Paper doesn't think very well but it's got a decent memory bank.
So I save up for a brand new poem.
I thought words were free.
Though I arc and swell and bloom,
And move replete with daylight, gifted-
A new shadow, melancholy in its fume,
Strongly pervades on this day now
   shifted.

Enkindle and sing, O dawn-awoken
   bones!-
Guide me through the salt and midnight!-
As above, a tide surfeit with unknowns
Is broken upon this reflecting man's sight!

Why covet my blisses, O familiar void?
And why those lazy eyes of envy, time?
Your long sleep and anemia I once
   enjoyed,
But here stands life, rushing and
   sublime!-

And here stands the martyr and saint!
Affirmed and illuminated in cause!-
For all other passions and peaks have
  a taint
Where deep nothingness winds and
   draws.

And why pray and descend, great nullity?
Why whisper and comfort and be at all?
The weak may come for your amity,
But death perfumes in your beckon
   and call!

When day betrays with days untold-
How the entropic rib impels us to be dust!
For day fools every pestled grain and
   ill old,
Curving and embracing them on a gust-

There! I have unmasked you, turning
   suns!
Your enthralling gaze, your simple hold!
Here are your cowardly, apathetic ones-
In your hands does their low course
   unfold!

They fear when one is most visible-
Why fear afternoon, O friends of twilight?
Do you not find this loaded sky risible?
Why love only as ghosts and strange
   night?

Save longing and fully comprehend:
Life is the tug of the eternal and the swift-
You must move, you must love and bend-
And, like the others, you must be adrift!

He who is high and most abounding,
Has the least of false shades cast on him:
The shade of the feeble, idle yet sounding-
Do not deny yourself- you've only
   grown dim-

Night! Come night and friends dotted
   within!
I have taught well- burn amongst me
   here!
Bound muscle and growth and sun akin!
Here is nature— warm and without
   veneer!
This took a little over a month to make. I hope you all enjoy reading it. This will most likely be my last post for a bit as this took a lot of creative energy- I won't be gone too long. Special thank you to Mc6lm for early input.

I love you all
- Darrell
Mike T Minehan Aug 2018
At the risk of sounding sexist
I’d like to pay my highest respects today
to the girl at my accountant’s
with the beautiful *******.
Usually the only things that jiggle there
are the numbers on the ledger,
but today a couple of numbers
stuck out for me to admire.
She knew it all added up spectacularly well
as she bent down obligingly
and pointed out where I should sign
and showed me what I needed to see.
She knew and I knew that
capital gains and expenses
were comparatively insignificant here.
Saucy insouciance was the obvious upside.
Of course, I shouldn’t have noticed,
but then I'm afraid that's what happens
when you’re more
of a ******
than an entrepreneur.

Mike T Minehan
ღ ღ ღ

I. The Song-bird
-----------------------

I can but dream of yester-year,
Thy voice a song-bird singing;
With every morn I woke to thee,
And friendship just beginning.

ღ ღ ღ

Crept up upon, and stole away,
Love claimed me when I found thee;
Thy dawn, thy noon, thy evening's set,
Thy crimson locks around me.

ღ ღ ღ

Please fare thee well my song-bird,
Though I know I shan't be near thee;
Thy melody still somewhere sings,
Though I no longer hear thee.


II. Your Garden, I
------------------------

You but walk past the apple tree each morning
And blossoms fall that they may settle on your breast,
Lie and faint against your silk, I wish to God could I...
That chance you'd pluck this fruit and in me find your rest.

ღ ღ ღ

Would He but let me live amongst the thorny roses
That reach to kiss as you float gently past,
Upon that lowest branch, 'tis me, a bud un-closing;
Though I be trodden underfoot, and crushed at last.

ღ ღ ღ

Without regret or second thought I'd bear thee,
Content to lie beneath the baby's breath,
'Tis still my home in peace to dwell forever,
Tread underfoot, pressed even unto death.


III. Awake Thee 'Fore The Dawn
----------------------------------------------

To pluck the day, its budding life,
Is thus to chance belong,
For blossoms still alive today
May be to-morrow gone.

ღ ღ ღ

To float up to the skies today,
And touch sun 'fore his leaving,
Is chance to dream, though now awake,
And never cease believing
(Hold on to that feeeallliiinnnn')

ღ ღ ღ

Though life in morning's most alive,
And in thy veins runs warmer,
Still tarry not, or thou may miss
What waits thee round the corner.

ღ ღ ღ

Though shyness is allure, my love,
Silence can love entomb;
Some blossoms once they've closed, my dear,
Cannot again re-bloom.

ღ ღ ღ

Please heed this all from he who knows,
And learned with such a cost,
For once I slept in past the dawn,
And, thus, her love I lost.

Carpe diem: Etymology; Latin ('to pluck the day')

www.youtube.com/watch?v=K8zYEBMFS-U

iv. icarus
------------

reason (racing)
isolation (self-imposed)
sweet symphony (yet un-composed)
wishes come (a curse with each)
this longed-for one (just out of reach)

ღ ღ ღ

myself, to her, will not belong
(with all my last words taken wrong)
cry with me, mourn this deepest sleep,
the seeds i plant, she cannot reap,
our kiss will never come to pass

(no room tonight for this romance)

ღ ღ ღ

what of the heart that cries tonight,
what of the song it sings?
if i could, i'd fly to you
if not for broken wings


v. think of me fondly
----------------------------

i can be needless
i can be like a stone
as hard as the leshan buddha
we all have that skill inside of us
but i think i need to be more than
a carving on a remote mountain
or a piece of malleable clay
shapeless until molded
by another's hand
i fumble
towards
the unknowable
what exactly is the
future anyways?
think of the
next moment
and already
it is here
that
quick
this
quick
want to
reach out
but i won't
though i feel
parts of me are
slowly dying
and maybe
my love
can only
fade slowly
as hers does
for even now
in this silence
my heart can't
stop feeling hers
beating alongside
asking please,
jessica, please;
think of me
fondly, or
think of
me not
at all



vi. dreams
--------------

the very second
we wake from them,
they can be so very, very
far away; the harder
we try to hold, the
cruelly quicker
seems their
escape.

the gulf left,
       so unbridgeable,
            so enormous,
                 so peculiar
when only so brief
a moment ago it was
       so close,
            so familiar,
                 so a part of us.

ღ ღ ღ

can a person
truly love more
than one other at
the very same time?

trying to find the answer
to that question is like
trying to remember a
dream upon waking...

though i've discovered
there is just enough room
in this one man's chest for
both our broken hearts.


vii. of string and sustain
--------------------------------

The memory of your crimson locks
cascading down around, a framing
of such rapture as your emerald eyes at play;
it plucks my heart with subtle quill,
a note so frail, al niente, it rings, then fades away.

ღ ღ ღ

The memory of your troubled soul
revealed before me, bare; sometimes beside
me, sometimes not, but always wild and free,
strikes at my heart, dal niente, a chord that plays,
reverberates... and echos still in me.

(Al niente is from the Italian musical term meaning to fade to nothing, where convexly dal niente mean to arrive from nowhere. I like how a single letter completely flips the meaning).


viii. petals
--------------

i close my eyes
and i am there as
my soul leaves me
brought to this place by
a perfect love song sung by
a choir of every songbird that
lives (or has ever lived), wordlessly
singing to beckon me to visit a while
filled, overpowered almost,
by the unrefraining fragrance
of these perfectly unmade beds
of unearthly coloured blossoms
living and lifted by perfumed mists
falling mildly from clear, azure skies
through breezes that gust so slightly
blowing rapturous sunshine against me
and in me through my mouth and my eyes
as all that beautiful light and heat gather
together in my rising, falling chest
and i am so completely whole
in one moment that is all yours
as we are so lost, and so found
in this morning's daydream
at the end of our endless
days that end tonight

ღ ღ ღ

as your breathing labours
your freckled, trembling fingers
separate yourself, and your eyes urge
me to push so strongly against and into
your most secret hungers that i so ache as well
to feed as i savour and stroll down the ever
twisting and turning paths of your
heavenly garden that come
tomorrow's light
shall forever remain
in my dreams yet again...

ღ ღ ღ

i want to stroll forever
searching vainly for our worth
much too fragrant for my world,
far too fragile for your earth
.

ritournelleblog.files.wordpress.com/2010/09/garden-path-1902-osterreichische-galerie.jpg

ix. from across the sea
-----------------------------

as from a very distant star
whose light seeps under tight-locked doors
your light had traveled very far
from Éire's ever-dreaming shores

ღ ღ ღ

awaiting here impatiently
i was at least before i saw
'twas my heart being shaped for thee
as ice is shaped by spring-time's thaw

ღ ღ ღ

your light unfaded by the years,
a blue sphere burning bright,
that mixes now with my own rays
revealing paths within shared sight

ღ ღ ღ

no images of stars that died
remain within your heart or mine
as all those heartaches on the way
were leading us to what we'd find

ღ ღ ღ

and now two separate yearnings dove
at ending of a long, dark night
perchance a chance at lasting love
lifting two souls aloft in flight


X. Every Verse For You
---------------------------------

As I gaze upon your picture,
Though your beauty knows no bounds,
Its your subtler of charms
                           that I adore;

But when I think of touching you,
Pressing my lips against your skin,
More base desires start moving
                           to the fore;

I want to fill you up with me,
I want to set your passion free,
I want to be the wave that crashes
                           on your shore;

But then I see who's next to me,
And I'm overcome with shame,
For it's more than just myself
                           I'm fending for;

Life used to be so black and white,
Do this it's wrong, do that it's right,
But now I'm feeling things I've
                           never felt before;

And as I write another verse,
It sounds so awkward and contrived,
Searching for some elusive words
                           you're looking for;

And if these phrases sound all wrong,
Maybe the night's just been too long,
For it's from a heart that's true
                           that they do pour;

Or maybe it's just déjà vu
That I'm trying to sell to you,
For it's been too long I've lingered
                           at your door;

But if I cannot have your kiss,
Could you at least please grant me this?
Please don't forget me (not just yet)
                           I do implore;

And as your picture fades to black,
I take a very long look back,
And as I look into your eyes
                           they underscore:

                           ღ ღ ღ

There is nothing I could say
That could make you start to love me...

As there is nothing you could do
That could make me love you more...

youtube.googleapis.com/v/a_Am4cHMBKM


xi. goodbye flutterby
----------------------------

ღ ღ ღ

A POEM
                 of light wings
             & pretty things
             & stops & starts
             & heavy hearts

ღ ღ ღ

Not quite day-time, not yet quite night,
Is when we'd meet in briefest flight,
I, but dull moth, thoust, butterfly,
Under curt shadows of twilight.

ღ ღ ღ

Thou would'st trade yellows, blacks, and blues,
For dusty monotones of grey,
Acting aloof, yet, with such ease,
Thy shades would give thee quick away.

ღ ღ ღ

With such stressed seasons 'tween us now,
Surrounds me, life, and all it brings...
Yet doleful thoughts haunt noticing
Thy fading colours on my wings.

ღ ღ ღ

Ah, but to fly now even still,
(Wish setting sun could ever stay),
Ah, but to have yet one more chance,
(Wish we could wish ourselves away).

ღ ღ ღ

Forget me not, my Swallowtail,
Under thy body feel my air,
Through aether let my love reach thee,
Whisp'ring, My sweet, know I yet care...

ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ
ღ ღ ღ

Though it's far better now you've gone,
For I knew well 'twas never right,
For thee to lose such 'lucent hues,
Turning a creature of the night.

ღ ღ ღ

an  ode to papilio troilus

ღ ღ ღ

Tonight, just for tonight,
When we both go to sleep
With such distance and so
Many lives apart from one
Another, I still reach out,
I am stretching to you,
Asking with a long-distance
Whisper in your ear, please,
Let us say to each other
Just for one night
And only in dreams,
We are butterflies...
let us fly together,
and see the world
.

ღ ღ ღ

Running to Stand Still
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FvUI-s4Azw4

ღ ღ ღ

piedmontgardener.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/spicebush-swallowtail.jpg
Bryan Lunsford Aug 2018
It is within an unusually warm and early spring night,
Here, where I begin to feel something ever so unusual while looking deeply into this goddess' eyes,

With her eyes like a pair of diamonds sparkling in the sky,
It's at this moment–in this part of the night–
Love simply didn't need a reply,

With candles lit,
As it's surely to her delight,
And with rose petals all over the bed–
That, surely, was to her surprise,

Though, right now,
Can you really blame me for having this nervous butterfly-feeling whirling around inside?

For this will be the first-ever night that I'll get to hold this beauty tight,

And for such a divine beauty,
Surely I'd make any sacrifice to make sure her every whim and need is perfectly sufficed,

Yes, with our feelings for each other that couldn't be more pure or refined,
I already know, without hesitance, our love would satisfy any god's most delicate appetite inside,

And although, this world may never know how I truly feel inside,
I, myself, know with certainty that I love this woman more than anything I've ever loved in my whole life,

Yet, with nothing more than the sound of crickets chirping within the night,
I proceed to lay this beauty down–
Here, pulling her close to my side (where I tell her)
"I love you, angel, good night",

And even though our love never did need a reply,
She said
"I love you too, sweet dreams baby, don't forget to hold me ever so tight",

And thus with this crazy, whirling, butterfly-feeling, again, that I begin to feel take over inside,
She rolls over unexpectedly and surprises me with a kiss to seal any other reply–
To only roll back over and close her eyes,

Oh, and in the midst of her every action–every move leaving me mesmerized,
She decides to move an inch closer to me,
(Where I wrap my arm around her thighs)
As it's also nearly simultaneously that I hear the clock's stride finally hit midnight,

With a chime that struck once–
Then struck twice,
I begin to hear a set of chimes strike–and strike until they chime twelve times,  
(As these chimes come from this evilly wicked, horrid and heinous clock of mine)

Yes!–with this clock being a clock that through time I have come to slowly hate and despise!

Though, this tower of a clock reminds me of its presence with not the tics nor the tocs–
No, only when the minute hand climbs and the hour's hand meets another notch,

As only then, within that second of the minute, does my mind's thoughts get crossed and rocked–
With my thoughts that become locked within a box
(As it'll be for the next sixty minutes)
I'll just lie there and remain distraught,

Oh, and you ask why?–
Simply because of this chiming noise that won't stop!

With these reoccurring chimes that take my sleep and make most nights a loss–
I can assure you that if I don't go to bed by one or two o'clock,
Any sleep for me will become more and more implausible by every tic of the clock,

Yes, nearly impossible–
For it'll be with the next four or five hours, I'll just lie there, roll, and toss,

Though this is a different night!–
As I'm reminded with our legs crossed and with our fingers interlocked,

Yet, here as I begin to feel the warmth of her body block and fend off any kind or sorts of lingering winter's frost,
I also sense that numerous candles are still glowing bright,
(With the sight of their ambient light flickering off of the bedside's wall from abroad)

And, within this room filled with sentiment as I hear not a sound at all,
I smell the candle's aromatic scents,
With the atmosphere within the air being ever so calm,

Until that is, I hear another chime of a ****–
With it sounding like a melody that's gone ever so wrong–
It's with this tower of a clock, right here, that has just let me know it's now the hour of one o'clock–
And one o'clock, right on the dot,

With only one lone chime that I heard–as everything then simply paused and stopped,

Though, within my mind and with these thoughts that refuse to stop,
I reassure myself–
Knowing that the time is only one o'clock,

For I know I still have an aplenty of time to close my eyes and make these endless lines of thoughts stop,

So to this brilliant mind of mine,
You know that it's clearly time to let these thoughts wander off,

Just close your eyes and let your mind stop–

Though, didn't I just say enough with your thoughts?

Oh, and I can see you might think a lot,
But clearly and obviously you're not thinking about squat!

So just stop or I swear to god,
If you don't stop with these god awful thoughts,
I'll have no other option than to smash and squash your head against these bricks outside of this wall and then leave you there to rot–

For if you don't stop this exact instant then I am almost certain your beautiful woman will become a loss,

And I'm sure you don't want that to happen again, now do you?

So just stop with these thoughts–
Quit fooling around and whatever you do–
Oh, and whatever you do,
Don't let this beauty see that crazed loony side inside of you,

Just fall asleep now and you both can wake up tomorrow around noon,

Yes, just close your eyes and count these sheep jumping over the moon,
And count them jumping one by one–then two by two,

Yet, between one and two,
Surely I knew I was bound to come unglued,
(With the loony that came right out of me as I hear a tune)

With a chime that struck once and then twice,
It left my mind to know not what to do,

Though, that doesn't mean I am confused,
With the duo of chimes that struck–
Only letting me know it's now into the minutes of the night that come directly after two,

And though,
As I begin feeling as if a disaster was nearing in soon,
Still, I knew not what to do–

Because I know nothing as I'm thinking of nothing and just fading away within the scents of her perfume,

(Where I begin fading away within this serenity and hearing not a tune)
I feel the weight of my eyelids begin to feel like a caving-in roof weighing at least a ton or two,

And with just one of a few wondrous thoughts still wandering on through,
I wonder
"Could this be sleep that is nearing in soon?”,

With this feeling of a wonderful tranquil sensation subduing and leaving my whole body consumed,
(As I'm weary and with clearly not a thought left in this room)
I take one last deep breath
(With my lungs swelling like a balloon)

And within a dream is where I have just entered into–:
UNTIL ABRUPTLY I HEAR A SNOOZING OF A TUNE!

Yes!–As I'm awakened and with the insanity within in me being let loose to roam throughout this room,
My mind, then, begins to shift back and forth (like something caught drifting between a typhoon and a monsoon)

Where realizing as I view that I've opened my eyes too soon–
With it being this beauty here of mine that is the one who is creating this horrendous little tune,

And feeling, as I hear–
With every single breath that she breathes rattling the room–the walls–and even the shingles upon the roof,
I feel my mind, here, completely coming all the way unglued–
For all I want to do is make everything within this room mute!

Yes, that's all I want to do!–

For I’m sure I wouldn't even be in such a foul mood if I wasn’t sleep deprived,
And if this beauty here of mine and her snoring roar weren’t the main culprits of keeping me, my mind, and this night alive,

Though, hearing with her roaring of a snore that is beginning to drive me crazy inside–
Yes, as she snores, there!–just an inch or two away from my side–
I hear with her snore only growing more and more–

As I, then, within this second, try to ignore a chord of chimes striking once, and then striking twice,
(With this clock striking three times to remind me once again of the time)

–With this night now being at least 3:03, 3:04, and could possibly even be 3:05,
I know this night is at the most three or four hours away from seeing the sun shine bright through my window blinds,

Oh, and surely I already know I probably would just close my eyes–
Yes, that's probably what I would do!
But this little beauty here of mine is worse than any set of chimes,

And surely indecisive,
(As I move the pillow over my ears while I'm consumed by an irritating form of fright)
I move my body a little to the left and then a few inches to the right,
Where I hear her demon's rumbling from inside,
And screaming as if they're trying to come out and fight–

(Which is where I begin thinking)
“Is waking her up really that much of a crime?”

For if she knew she was snoring at such a high decibel level,
Then I'm sure she wouldn't even mind,

And thus with my decisions that couldn't agree more with my mind,
I decide to slightly lift her head and wiggle her,
(As I nearly tickle her left side)

Whispering to her as I say,
"Baby, wake up, I just had the worst dream of my life!
Oh, baby, wake up, I just need to see those sweet little angel eyes!",

Though motionless–
There, as I try to keep my insane and crazy side inside,
My whisper begins to intensify to a scream
(As she refuses to open her eyes or give me a reply)

I continued to scream–SCREAMED!

"Oh, why, oh, why won't you open your eyes!",

And with her snore being the only reply that she could give me,
It literally drove me crazy inside–
Thus driving me as it drove me to climb on top of her body,
(Where I grab her nose and squeeze)

As it's within the silence and in this exact instant,
Instantly and unbelievably, I see I've hit a stride that I couldn't believe,

Yes, mesmerized!
And content beyond belief–
With her snoring, here, that has finally ceased–

–Casually, I proceed to climb off of her body
(Wherein realization I finally can go back to sleep)

And in the silence, again, as I hear not a peep,
I roll over, close my eyes, and before I could even count one jumping sheep,
I hear a roar once more coming from this treacherous little beast,

And surely with not a second more could I go without sleep,
(As this pillow, right here, has just become my best friend, and the most plausible way to get any sleep)
I decide to move this pillow over her face–with my exertion at first lacking any tenacity,

But what I'd end up hearing would be like a growl or a roar of a wicked beast,

With this sinister snore of hers only increasing more and more with every tic of my heart's beat,
I begin to feel my thoughts shift toward the sentiment of either insane or crazy,

(As my hands push with more and more of an intensity)
I begin sweating–feeling the smothering warmth of her body's heat,

Though, simultaneously as I hear her heart throb and knock an unstoppable and irregular beat,
I begin putting even more weight upon this pillowcase
(With a galore of my sweat dripping upon these sheets)

And surely I have to know,
(For it should be as obvious as could be)
That if I put any more weight upon this pillowcase,
I'd likely break through the toughest of the most unbreakable concretes,

And thus coming to the realization–
With this crazy side of me that has taken over and been unleashed surely not being me,

It's here, against the greatest of restraints
(As I'm barely able to climb off of her body)
I climb off and begin waiting within the silence–

Waiting and hearing not a peep,
Where seemingly prompting myself to say,
Here, as I speak!
"Good night baby–sweet dreams",

Though, I'd hear not a reply–
As a reply was something our love never did need,

Yet, as I roll over to climb under these sheets and close my eyes
(Where simultaneously it all has seemed)
I have fallen fast asleep within a dream while holding my sleeping beauty tight–

Holding her as I squeeze–
Holding her!–
With her heart that holds not a beat–.
Bison Mar 2016
Day to day, the great charade
Masks worn by day in plain
Pain washed away by casks
It's all a part of the Fake Parade

Blood soaked life grenade
Pounding away, offered up in hand
Man made and mad sounding
Tattered sleeve worn stained

Give it up for this Fake Parade
Give it up for mistakes made

No hook lines or chorus
Oh Lord, dearly departed
Discarded so clearly, Lord knows
They sing dead songs for us

Life is not a masquerade
Brave it all, show your face
Pace along into the grave
One more step in the Fake Parade

Give it up for this Fake Parade
Give it up for mistakes made
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